


Tribute

by tatterwitch



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Blood and Gore, God Keith, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Pagan Gods, Tribute Shiro, warrior shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 03:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: The sacrifices of goats and cows aren't enough. They don't sate him like battle and such does.He's hungry.He's a fine god to have on your side in times of war but in times of peace, he's.....Famished.And Shiro's people know, as soon as the night starts taking people, that the Tribute must be made





	Tribute

**Author's Note:**

> This was another Discord chat chain that I really wanted to share. Please excuse the odd structuring. 
> 
> This is for sure an AU I'd love to talk more about! Come talk to me on my tumblr @[shyshiros](http://www.shyshiros.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> *Keith's godly name is pronounced "Kee-til-yon".

The sacrifices of goats and cows aren't enough. They don't sate him like battle and such does. 

He's hungry.  

He's a fine god to have on your side in times of war but in times of peace, he's.....Famished.

And Shiro's people know, as soon as the night starts taking people, that the Tribute has to be made.

It's their tradition that in times like these, a great warrior must be offered up. One of great courage and strength. 

The warriors are gathered. The people make their choice. The Tribute is bound and lead into the forest, through the seemingly endless sea of shadows and trees, to the Altar. 

The Altar's a thing of cracked, stained stone and crawling vines. It's wide and raised at the center. Etchings of sacred patterns are carved into the stone. They're stained darkly from the offering of the past. 

Shiro is forced to his knees. It's traditional that he fights for his freedom, for his life....But he holds back. If this will save his people, he'll submit.It's dark this deep into the forest. 

No sun makes it through the canopy. 

Torches and dishes of oil dance with flame. Shadows flicker and curl around the edges of the Altar.

The Leaders are speaking to the god, beseeching them to take this Tribute, to gorge on their greatest warrior and grant their people peace after the god is sated. 

Shiro tenses up, bonds creaking as he's anointed with black oil. It smears, cold and slick, over his skin. Fingers sink into his hair and yank his head back. 

Overhead, the canopy shivers with a wind unfelt. The shadows look thicker. Things seem to roil and stare from the limbs of the trees. 

The ritual blade is cold against his throat. It scrapes over his skin, pricking slightly as the people raise their voices and the chant nears its crescendo. 

Shiro swallows hard and feels the blade move with the bob of his throat. He closes his eyes. Voices ring loud and then halt, echoing into the spaces between the trees. The hand in his hair tightens and then the knife moves. 

Heat bubbles and then flows freely. It pours over his front, pools around his knees. It sinks into the etchings and spreads outward. 

Shiro chokes. He flounders, fingers clutching at something, anything. 

The stone is warm and rough beneath his cheek. Sticky heat smears over his lips and jaw as he tries to gasp in air. It froths uselessly in his ruined throat, dying before it can reach his lungs. 

He watches his blood reach the edges of the Altar. Cold grips him, makes every thought sluggish. 

The shadows aren't moving like shadows should. They crawl over the ground in a mass like fog. 

They hover over the offered blood, writhing and bloating as they come closer....closer... 

Shiro can't see past them, now. His people are past the roiling masses of darkness, somewhere.

The shadows roll over him.

They're....Warm.

They cover him, heavy and hot. They curl around him, over him, beneath him. 

Shiro can feel his body die. And then he can't feel anything at all.

He can't see.

He can't hear.

Fear draws its claws down his spine.  

The scents of smoke, wine, and spice fill his lungs.

... 

Lungs Shiro breathes deep and opens his eyes.

He's....Whole? 

His fingers curl to his command. His lungs ache with how deep he breathes. 

He reaches up, cupping the front of his throat. The wound is gone, almost like it had never been in the first place. There's no sticky layer of blood or gaping skin. Just his own scars and skin. 

Shiro tamps down on his amazement and forces himself to focus on his environment.

It’s the forest 

The shadows are still thick, but they're still where they rest among the branches and bracken.The Altar's still beneath his feet. The stone is hot and sticky. Fresh blood stains the etchings. His blood. 

Shiro turns, nearly tripping as something cold and heavy knocks against his ankles.He looks down and immediately recoils unsteadily.

Flat grey eyes stare blankly at the stone floor. Bound limbs are twisted unnaturally. Thick, clotted red has started to dry on pale, scarred skin. 

"Jarring, isn't it?" 

 Shiro jumps at the husky, echoing voice His head jerks up and he tenses.

There's a figure among the shadows between the trees.

It's shoulders are broad and bulky. A skeletal face with fangs as long as Shiro's fingers stares unblinkingly. Pale skin peeks from beneath black furs and pelts. Gold winks in the dim light cast from the oil lamps. 

The figure moves, stepping fully into the ring of light. Its hands lift, clawed fingertips sinking into thick, dark fur. The fur moves, sliding away and pooling over lean arms marked with scars. The figure's features are sharp in the flickering flames.Wide eyes glint in the darkness. 

The figure shakes their head, dark hair falling in a wild array around their shoulders. Beads of white, red, and gold clink softly. The light catches their eyes, making them flash gold.

Shiro's left breathless again.

It's like his throat's been cut again. Air catches and refuses to full his lungs. The figure steps closer, setting their hood and mask at the edge of the Altar. 

"Seeing your own corpse is....Startling." 

Shiro breathes the god's name on whisper that's half-stuck in his throat.  

Keithelon's lips curve up at the corners. His teeth flash, too white, too sharp. His palm curls loosely over the hilt of a knife at his hip. 

"You can call me Keith."

There's another smile that makes something in Shiro's gut twist. There's something unsaid hovering in the air between them.

Something deep in Shiro's mind screams of danger.

He remains on-guard.

Keithelon, Keith, seems to sense it and he half-smiles again.

"Tell me your name, Tribute."

Shiro speaks his name.

Keith repeats it, letting it roll over his tongue like a fine wine.

Shiro tries to ignore the way his name on Keith's mouth makes heat pool in his belly.

Keith  moves, all inhuman grace and trailing shadows.

He leans against a pillar, too casual.

"Why didn't you fight?"

Shiro blinks, caught for a moment. 

Keith presses again, "It's tradition that Tributes fight for their life. Yet. You-" 

He peers at Shiro intently and Shiro feels like Keith's digging into his mind, his soul.

"You did not."

Keith's mouth moves, teeth flashing again. His tongue slides over them, too red.

"I could take this as a slight. As an insult. Tributes are the strongest warriors. Tell me, Takashi Shirogane, are you an insult or simply weak?" 

Shiro stands his ground. Something in his core shakes, though. "No. No insult was intended." 

Keith's eyes flash, "Weak, then?"

Shiro speaks before he can think, "Admitting defeat is not weak."

He scrambles to recover, "I apologize if I insulted you by remaining docile. I wished to cause my people the least amount of distress and pain as possible."

Shiro takes a breath, "They've suffered enough. I couldn't cut them down simply to save my own life."

"Noble." Keith nods.

Shiro can feel some of the tension he's carrying bleed away.

Until Keith's head lifts and he sees the look the god's face bears.

Shiro fights to keep himself calm and alert as Keith straightens and then prowls along the lip of the Altar.

"Still. I'm a little insulted. A Tribute...Refusing to fight..." Keith casts a look over the space between them.

Shiro feels like he's a piece of meat being sized up"I wonder if you'd fight for the safety of your people, now, then."

It's all the warning Shiro has.

Keith is nothing more than a blur of darkness as he launches at him.

Shiro barely steps out of the way Heat and pain burst in a line across his hip.

Keith bares his teeth in a feral smile, blades gleaming in his handsHe prowls around Shiro.

"Fight for your people, Shiro."

Shiro dodges another slice.

The metal brushes his skin, cool and sharp.

He needs a weapon.

"Fight for yourself. Fight for your soul."

Keith moves like no one Shiro's ever fought before.

He's strong, but he doesn't rely on that.

He could crush Shiro's throat with one hand if he wanted to.

He's agile, but he doesn't rely on that, either.

He dances from shadow to shadow, manifesting soundlessly in a whirl of gold eyes and silver knives.

He's cunning, but he doesn't rely just on that, either.

Keith uses everything he has.

He makes a quick study of Shiro's fighting style and weak spots.

He darts into Shiro's space and delivers heavy blows before slipping away like he's nothing more than a shadow.

"Fight, Shiro. Or I'll consume you, your soul, and your people."

Shiro lashes out, knocking his forearm against one of Keith's incoming blows.

The shock of the blow causes Keith's fingers to numb for a moment. One knife clatters to the stone under their feet.

Shiro drops under the slash Keith aims for his throat.

He snatches the fallen knife up and sweeps it in a wide arc.

Dark blood patters over the stone.

Keith dematerializes and reappears across the Altar.

He touches his thigh. His fingertips come away stained dark.

Shiro uses the distraction to his advantage, closing the distance in a leapHis elbow catches Keith's jaw.

Keith's head snaps back. His teeth click together audibly, catching his lip or tongue. Blood speckles his face.

Shiro doesn't stop.

If he gives the god the barest opening, he'll dematerialize and regroup.

So Shiro presses him hard.

He keeps Keith moving, blocking.

He searches for any opening, any weakspot in Keith's guard.

Keith doesn't tire. His guard is unbreakable.

Shiro grits his teeth as Keith swipes out, claws raking down his cheek.

His people are in jeopardy .

The shadows at his feet roil.

Shiro launches himself as Keith begins to dematerialize again.

Keith's head connects with the stone of the Altar.

His knife clatters away.

Shiro presses his blade to Keith's throat.

"Spare my people."

Keith snarls, teeth bloodied. The shadows writhe and hiss, creeping close.  

_If you kill the shadow god, you take his power._

The words of the old tales come back to him as he struggles to keep Keith pinned.

The shadows whisper it, rolling closer.

Keith's eyes are violet. This close, Shiro can see the spikes of red-violet, the whorls of dark blue and the gleam of gold around his pupils.

"I do not want your power."

Keith snarls again, "Lies.”

He writhes, almost bucking Shiro off.

" _Just spare my people_."

Keith's claws dig into Shiro's ribs, sinking past flesh and into muscle.

Shiro cries out and feels Keith fade from between his hands.

Those claws dig in again and flip him onto his back.

A knee plants into his belly and forces the air from his lungs.

A hand curls around his throat, claws dangerously close to circling his windpipe.

Keith looks every bit the god he is above him.

His hair is wild and tangled. Blood stains his teeth and mouth. His eyes glow gold.

"What would you give, to spare your people?"

"Anything. Everything." Shiro gasps.

Keith's lashes dip a little. Blood drips onto Shiro's chest.

"You would yield to me."

Shiro nods, "Yes."

"You would offer your soul willingly to me."

"Yes."

Keith slowly lowers himself. Shiro can feel the heat pouring off of him. He can feel Keith's breath on his skin.He closes his eyes and braces himself.  

Sharp teeth catch at Shiro's lower lip. Keith's mouth, hot and slick with his own blood, is soft against his.

Shiro swallows the taste down hungrily and chases after it as Keith pulls back. 

Keith's eyes are heavy-lidded and dark. Gold shines around his pupils. His cheeks are flushed. His tongue traces over his lower lip. 

"Willingly?" 

"Yes." 


End file.
